


All the World

by Macadamanaity



Category: Slings and Arrows
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-29
Updated: 2009-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-03 23:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macadamanaity/pseuds/Macadamanaity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where would we be without stage managers?</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the World

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Slings and Arrows ficathon for icewolf010 who wanted Darren Nichols being pretentious, Maria being stage mannerly, Geoffrey dealing with both of them, and/or Richard being put firmly in his place, with no angstacticness.

“No.”

“But…”

“No!”

“Can’t you see that-”

“NO!”

“Maria, you seem to forget that I-”

“Richard. I said, ‘No!’ It’s not happening. It’s in my contract, in bold, underlined twice. Remember? It was the only way you could even consider getting me to come back on such short notice. I will stage manage any show, for any director—and that includes you, you turncoat hack—but I will not, ever, under any circumstance, work on another show for Darren Nichols. Not even one that’s probably going to Broadway. Now get out of my way or I swear by all that is good and holy in this world I will tell _everyone_ about that regrettable night and the thing with the you-know-what.”

“… you wouldn’t.”

“Well, aside from the unfortunate side effect of demonstrating that I’ve behaved with something other than sheer loathing for you for a few hours of my life, having done _that_ certainly couldn’t hurt _my_ reputation, now could it? Especially since half the company is still convinced I’m a dyke despite evidence to the contrary.”

Richard gaped at her like a fish for a few moments, and she stared back steadily. Finally, he turned on his heels and skulked back down the hall, the name ‘Anna’ likely on the tip of his tongue, but for once he managed to keep it from escaping.

Maria smirked for a moment, but soon noticed a few of the younger, new company members watching her with wide eyes from a dressing room with the door crack open. She moved toward them, suddenly.

“Boo!”

They scattered. Her own reputation aside, anyone who had been there for the brief but legendary Tennant Years occupied an uneasy place of reverence and fear in the esteems of those who had not.

Back then, Maria had gotten her share of respect (except from Ellen, perhaps) but until now hardly anyone, let alone the majority of the company, had been afraid of her.

Maria smiled as she walked on toward the lighting booth.

***

“I’m not afraid of you!”

The shrill note of that statement, in conjunction with the shattered martini glass and spilled drink (the one he had ordered loudly, chiding the bartender of this locale frequented primarily by poor actors, for not knowing its contents, since it was ‘all the rage’ in the most exclusive clubs in Toronto, these days), said otherwise.

Geoffrey looked up from his beer and notepad, eyes weary but rolling.

“I never said you were, Darren. And believe me, though I’ve said a great many things about you, I would remember one that would imply that you had common sense.”

Darren’s new groupies gasped indignantly, which seemed to steady and restore him to his normal level of bravado.

“Now, now. I knew that there would be bad blood between us, given the way I succeeded you as director of the festival. It’s only natural that you would resent me and the exciting new directions in which I’m taking New Burbage, but, dear Geoffrey, we must bury the hatchet, if only for the sake of the theatre community.”

Geoffrey looked bemused, and after looking around to see if anyone else had heard Darren’s odd declaration, responded, genuinely perplexed, “What the fuck?”

Somehow affronted by this reaction, Darren sniffed, put on his sunglasses, looked away, and allowed his followers to lead him to the other end of the dimly-lit bar after announcing, “I see I was mistaken when I thought that your jealousy of my success might not come between us, Geoffrey. Don’t come crawling back to me when you see the destruction your antagonism reaps!”

Geoffrey stared at his retreating back for a second longer, as if trying to parse out exactly what had just happened, and then returned to his beer and notes.

A minute later, someone slid into the opposite bench of his booth. He looked up. Maria. He raised an eyebrow.

She grinned, offering, “Sorry about that, eh?”

The other brow joined the first.

“Some of us have been telling stories _de la Résistance_ to the newbies, and a few of them have taken it upon themselves to challenge his and Richard’s every decision and order. It’s gotten more than a couple of them fired, of course, but they mostly don’t care by that point, and then they become martyrs, inspiring two more to take their place. Anyhow, he’s decided it’s you who is turning his company against him. Given the way things are going, I doubt he’ll last longer than this season.”

Geoffrey quirked a corner of his mouth at that, betraying a hint of pleasure.

“You know I can’t ever come back, and probably wouldn’t if I could, though, right?”

“Oh sure. I mean, I’m sorry, but it’s not really about you anymore, Geoffrey. Now that I’m back, I mean to stay, and so Darren’s got to go. Since Richard is the one who’s backing him so strongly despite the fact that Darren has managed to piss off almost the whole board by firing their sister-in-laws’ cousins’ nieces and nephews, anyone who comes after won’t be Richard’s pick, and so odds are they’ll be a real director and I’ll be able to work with them.”

Geoffrey then signaled to the bartender, who knew him well enough to bring at least two shots of whiskey.

He raised his glass and toasted, ‘to stage-managers.’

***

“Actors! You’re all the same! A bunch of selfish, filthy, whiny children! Now go home!”

“We love you too, Maria,” one of the cheekier young actors called out from stage left. Maria could hear Emily snickering from the back of the theatre, where she would sometimes wait to ask Maria’s advice about one thing or another. She almost never needed to, these days, and struck her own brand of terror into the company.

Exactly thirty seconds after Maria had called time, her cell phone rang, like clockwork. She answered, “Yo.”

“Yeah, it went well. We might even get all the way through it before previews, for once. How was your blissfully theatre-free day?

“He _called_ you? And offered you a _job_?! He _has_ a job?!

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I just thought the scandal might have forced him out of the public eye for a while longer. Any sane person would lie low. But I guess we’re talking about Richard, eh?

“Seriously, what did you tell him? I mean, besides ‘fuck no!’

“Uhg. You’re too nice for your own good, Anna.

“Ha! I thought you kept me around for all the stale Timbits I bring home from rehearsals.

“Well. That too. Anyhow, I’ll see you at home. Bye.”

She turned and saw the new artistic director beaming at Emily, who was explaining something at near-light speed with some frantic hand gestures. Maria didn’t mind the new girl that much. At least with her, Maria didn’t have to worry that her show would not go up or whether it would be laughed off the stage, both experiences she refused to ever repeat again. And while she wasn’t scared of Maria _per se_, the amount of influence over the company the stage manager had managed to acquire over the years was something to acknowledge.

“Hey Maria!” Joanne called out to her. “C’mere. I want to ask you something.”

Maria walked up the center aisle to her director and to her protégé.

“What’s up, Jo?”

“Well, I’m finalizing the list for next season. I have an idea that. I mean, I’ve always wanted to. Um. Well, you were there. Do you think. Is… is it too soon?”

Maria thought about the weird stability that her life had finally settled into, thought about that successful play in which she had seen both Ellen and Geoffrey in Toronto the month previously, thought about all the new members of the company, whom she should probably stop calling new one of these years, and of what they thought it meant to be a member of the New Burbage Festival. She then smirked, and shook her head.

“You should go ahead and do it. It feels like a Hamlet sort of year.”


End file.
